


Fire Emblem: Three Houses Shorts

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Series: Gifts and Requests [24]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Other, Various-NSFW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: Various short FE3H prompts/requests. Tags, characters, and pairings in individual chapters.
Series: Gifts and Requests [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822471
Comments: 38
Kudos: 29





	1. Annette/Byleth (Married sex, impregnation, mating press)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette/M!Byleth honeymoon mating press impregnation.

Annette Fantine Dominic had found security with the man who’d been her teacher, then her commander, then her friend, and then something more. Together, they could make what they both wanted. Both of the world, and with each other.

Byleth was so much taller than her, so much stronger, and she felt helpless in his grasp, his hands, beneath his body, as he trailed kisses along her cheek and forehead. She could feel his heartbeat, pumping through his chest as he held himself above her, protective, but relaxed. She could  _ also _ sense his pulse through the tip of his stiff prick, the head nudging at her lower lips as he hoisted her legs up and let her feet hang in the air, trembling with anticipation.

He nodded and brushed his lips against hers, smiling slightly, and she quivered and moaned as he sank home, stuffing her with his cock little by little. 

Annette squirmed and grabbed at his biceps, cooing, struggling to keep track of just how much of Byleth’s dick she was taking. She was a small woman, and he was a tall man, and he had the endowment to match, but her pussy still gobbled up his dick and asked for more, clenching and caressing and urging him to keep sliding himself forward. He didn’t stop until the frizzy red hair of her bush tickled his pelvis, and she giggled at the sensitivity of it.

It was overwhelming. Annette felt more full than she did after most meals, her body accommodating Byleth’s dick comfortably, but there was a lovely strain to being so stretched around his cock that she couldn’t help but croon invitingly, urging him onward. He grinned, kissed her again, and shoved himself just a  _ bit _ further, so that the heft of his sack nudged Annette’s upturned asshole.

She squealed in surprise, and Byleth chuckled. Releasing her from the kiss, he cupped her body from below, holding the back of her head and shoulders, and began driving his hips forward and back more powerfully. Each movement inside left Annette reeling from the full-body tremble that rang through her, as her pussy gripped, grabbed, and clutched at his cock, loathe to be left un-stuffed at any one time. Every push inward also brought Byleth’s balls to smack against her asshole with a meaty  _ whap _ , and she whined and squirmed as her tender back entrance quivered, trembled, and tensed at the constant drumming and stimulation.

Annette couldn’t take any more. She was caught between squeaking, giggling, and moaning as she was teased, tickled, and thrust into, back curled and legs pinned above his thighs, hanging in the air. She came, and the undulating slickness bearing down on Byleth brought him over in concert. Kissing her on the nose, he held himself balls-deep inside the tiny woman he was fucking, his nuts twitching against her rear hole, and erupted, stuffing her full of his load with frenzied, powerful spurts of spunk and seed. 

Their first try at making a baby had gone a bit sloppier than they’d anticipated, but they had so much time to get it right.


	2. Shamir/Catherine (Softdom/Femsub, cunnilingus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shamir/Catherine, soft dom/sub.

Catherine was a stickler for rules. It came with the territory of being a Knight, whereas Shamir couldn’t really find it in herself to follow them. Sure, she kept to the codes of conduct that governed being a mercenary, but organizing her life around an abstract, seemingly arbitrary set of criteria? No, thanks. Even once she’d come into slightly-more-permanent service with the Church of Seiros, she never took to their hierarchies and regulations as smoothly as she might’ve. It just wasn’t in her nature.

But there were circumstances that merited a particular kind of adherence. A certain sort of yoking. She couldn’t really think of a better way to define what she had with Catherine, but that was fine. Maybe she didn’t need to define it at all. Attaching words to their shared experience could’ve made it seem like she was diminishing it with trappings of vocabulary. Better to let it stay amorphous, only faintly constructed, lest they lose the magic.

Their lips met in a quiet, furtive kiss, hands tracing the lines of muscle and scars on each other’s arms, trailing to their shoulders and the back of their hair to pull themselves closer together. Catherine was taller, broader, stronger than Shamir, but under the mercenary’s touch, the knight softened, receding and surrendering to whatever Shamir wanted. It had taken a long time to build up that trust, and the Dadgan never dreamed of betraying it. 

The burlier woman let herself fall backwards, still locking her mouth against her partner’s. There wasn’t any way Shamir could’ve toppled her, not without seriously damaging Catherine’s legs, but the knight let her pretend that she was beaten as she leaned away, pressing her back against the wall to lower her head to Shamir’s level. The mercenary rewarded her with a hungry nibble on Catherine’s lower lip, earning a muffled whine and a little thrum of delight from them both. 

The only thing squished more tightly together than their lips were their chests. Slick and dripping sweat, shuddering slightly from the pressure, nipples rubbing and sliding in uneven dragging motions, Catherine’s came out the larger by virtue of being, well,  _ more _ in every respect. More powerful, more muscular, more vibrantly energetic. Their arms wrapped around each other more completely, until they were wrapped in a full-body embrace, hugging and clutching at each other’s warmth.

Catherine was a rock, firm and unyielding, a pillar upon which Shamir could squeeze and grab without fear of overstressing her. Shamir was smoother, smaller, and if she’d ever wanted, Catherine could have easily held her in an inescapable bear-hug and done whatever she wished. Shamir genuinely appreciated the sacrifice that Catherine made in giving way before the mercenary—it couldn’t have been easy for a woman used to taking orders from only one person to do—and always made sure to reward her accordingly.

When they pulled apart, panting and smiling, Shamir made up her mind. Catherine always followed her directives, and supplicated herself before the shorter woman however much was demanded of her. That was their arrangement, and that was their pattern. But today...today, it was time for Shamir to demonstrate to Catherine just how much she was treasured. Just how good of a girl her lady knight was.

Shamir slipped to her knees, and parted Catherine’s legs with slim fingers. She smiled up at the other woman and bent forward to press a long, slow kiss to the golden hair crowning Catherine’s slit. The swordswoman let out a long, low, throaty moan, reaching her hands down to tangle in Shamir’s hair as the sniper lapped, licked, and dragged her lips across and over Catherine’s muff, probing and slurping and humming softly. 

Shamir could drag out Catherine’s pleasure until the other woman was sobbing for relief, or bring her to quick, earnest orgasm. She could measure out the movements of her tongue precisely, restrain herself appropriately, and strike at all the rights spots atop and within her partner. Even now, as she curled her tongue inside Catherine, nose digging into the taller woman’s riotously wild and sweat-slick bush, Shamir knew that a little groan, welling up from her chest, could more than easily bring Catherine to a wrenching climax. Or she could keep going slowly, edging Catherine to whimpering madness at the robbed, staved-off orgasm. Catherine didn’t have the will to force her, even with her hands in Shamir’s hair, even with her thighs pressing against the sides of the mercenary’s cheeks. 

Shamir chose the more merciful option. Catherine had earned it. Reaching to grab the knight’s muscular ass, cupping both firm cheeks in her hands, Shamir swiveled and twisted her tongue in wild, undulating motions within the other woman, panting furiously through her nose and whining, letting the throb of sound through her tongue and teeth ring out against Catherine’s clit and inner walls. The effect was immediate, and wonderful: the knight grabbed great handfuls of Shamir’s raven locks, her legs clamped down on her head, and she yowled and came with a frantic, furious gush.

Through it all, Shamir smiled and sighed, and slurped up Catherine’s spend. Tonight was a night to remind Catherine that she had been a good girl, and good girls got rewarded by their mistresses. Tomorrow, it would be back to how things were, with Catherine following all of Shamir’s directions, whether she was tied, blindfolded, or gagged. But a good mistress rewarded her pets, and Catherine had made Shamir so very proud.


	3. Judith/Balthus (Pegging, MILF, Femdom)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judith pegging Balthus, natch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She really should have been playable on Golden Deer and the fact that she isn't is a huge mistake and disappointment.
> 
> Also, numerically, she has the fattest ass in the game, holy heck, though I'm pretty sure "canonically" that honor is supposed to go to Rhea. Plus some of the character models are not quite accurate or consistent.  
> But anyway, Judith needs more lewding.

He’d always wanted to do something like this, with her. Wondered about it, dreamed of it, not-so-shamefully beat his dick and cum all over his abs to the fantasy of it. Of seeing her naked as she was now, with her almond-tan skin and the bushy brown hair between her legs. Her muscular form was more tired than she’d been in her prime, but she was still strong, still powerful, and still gorgeous. Her hips flared out wider than her shoulders, wider than the swell of her heavy, hefty tits, which hung lower than they might’ve ten or twenty years ago. But they were still lovely, in spite, or perhaps because, of the weathering of her decades. Her whole body was lined with the early fatigue of middle age, but to him, that just made her all the more enticing.

Yeah. Just like that, that’s how he’d pictured her, and now, he got to  _ see _ her, and  _ feel _ her. But he hadn’t anticipated, well,  _ this _ , this situation. Now he was here, though, he...didn’t think he could do anything about it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, anyway.

Still, there was a tension and an anxiety in Balthus as he steadied himself, clenching his fists. She’d been kind enough to lay her no-nonsense approach to the side, if only out of respect for what she was asking of him, as she poured out a liberal application of that which would give her enough purchase to make this more comfortable.

Yeah, Balthus had adored the idea of anal with Judith von Daphnel, and he’d been beyond overjoyed when the defeat of Nemesis had provided him with an opportunity to flirt with his childhood crush, and found her to be not merely receptive, but reciprocative. But maybe he could’ve been a little more specific about what, exactly, he meant by “butt stuff,” because now Judith was slicking up the space between his asscheeks, slippery with the medium that would permit her to exercise her unexpected tastes.

The same liquid glistened on the rod attached to the harness strapped around her waist. It was a thick, sleek thing, not as big as Balthus’s length, but still considerably girthy. She grinned, running her hands over the facsimile of a penis one more time, then reaching forward to rest her fingers on his bellybutton.

“Last chance, boy.” Judith said in that low, slightly hoarse contralto that Balthus loved so much. “Once I get going, well…”

A part of Balthus wanted to bow out, to avoid the shame of being subjected to something he’d never felt before. Or maybe he was just worried that he’d actually  _ like _ it.

The rest of him refused to entertain those doubts. He wouldn’t falter. It wasn’t the way he’d foreseen it, but he was about to fuck Judith, and there wasn’t much he’d trade to give up that chance.

“I don’t give up, Judith. Just try and stop me.” Balthus tried to sound confident, but the bud of doubt in the back of his voice gave him away. Mercifully, Judith didn’t press the point, but as she reached her hands forward to lift his legs up until they were resting on her shoulders, she chided him gently.

“That’s  _ Lady _ Judith to you, boy. Only Claude gets to call me ‘just Judith,’ and even that’s pushing it…” She grinned and lined up the tip of the strap-on to Balthus’s asshole, watching his entrance pucker and twitch, shimmering with lubricant. “...Though not in the same way I’m about to push into you.”

Balthus would have laughed if his voice hadn’t hitched when she followed that up with a nudge forward, making true on her promise despite his resistance. His rear held fast, for a moment, but the slickness gave her the purchase she needed, and with a trembling, low moan, Balthus felt Judith sink her fake dick into his ass.

The stretch was...well, he wouldn’t call it pleasant, not yet, but it wasn’t painful. He felt uncomfortably full, and more than slightly emasculated, but Judith knew how to reassure him in her own gruff way.

“That’s it, keep at it. You’re doing well, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could handle it.” She said, one hand on the base of her tool, the other still on Balthus’s belly as she sank forward and speared him on her strap-on. “Be glad this isn’t the studded one, boy, or else you wouldn’t sit right for a week. You still might not.”

Balthus gulped. That wasn’t a pleasant thought. But he was tougher than her, and sturdier than she assumed he was. He didn’t doubt he could take this, and enjoy it. It was just a matter of when.

“C’mon, in you go, a bit more…” Judith muttered, talking to herself, her toy, or him. He wasn’t sure. He opened his mouth to quip out some witty retort, and his words died in his throat when Judith bottomed out in him, her crotch brushing his ballsack, his legs nearly perpendicular to his back. More importantly, the tip of her lengthy leather protrusion was nudging...something. Something deep, and simultaneously stiff and spongy, or so it felt. It prompted a grunt from Balthus, a satisfied chuckle from Judith, and a twitch in his ballsack while a single drop of precum oozed down from his cockhead onto his pubic hair.

“That’s your prostate, boy, and I’m going to work that over like there’s no tomorrow.” Judith purred. She moved the hand grasping the toy to reach up and palm one of her tits, squeezing and squishing the soft skin beneath her fingers, tweaking her nipples as she slowly dragged her hips back...and thrust forward. Not harshly, or too quickly, but with enough force to draw another growl from Balthus, and, this time, a sigh of relief from Judith.

Judith slid her hips forward and back, then swiveled from side to side, to drag her strap-on all around inside him, nudging within Balthus at angles he never thought he’d feel. Her fingers on his belly were a bracing point for her pushing and pulling, but she never stopped palming her own tit, grabbing and stroking it in time with her movements, letting him watch her other breast sway and wobble with the momentum, sagging slightly. The lines by her eyes were taut as she narrowed them, fixated on her goal, and her pleasure, and watching him with confident interest as she wrapped a much larger, and much younger, man’s asshole around an imitative prick.

“Good, you’re doing good…” Judith crooned, smiling stiffly, as if reluctant to encourage him. “You’re taking this like you’re meant for it. Maybe you are?” 

She guffawed, but Balthus was too focused on getting a rod rammed up his ass to really respond. Every time Judith pushed forward, she poked his prostate, bringing forth a fresh dribble of precum and a jolt up his cock and balls. He must’ve been quite a sight, squirming and panting, but it felt too damn good for him to worry about appearances. Plus, at this angle, he could still see Judith’s chest sway and jiggle, and her hips gyrate and shake, and he could imagine the ripples of her asscheeks as she moved. 

“I think it’s time to see what you’re made of. Most pretty boys would have fallen apart by now, but I had higher expectations for you anyway, so you lasting this long isn’t surprising.” Judith flashed Balthus a naughty grin. “Let’s see how much farther we can go.”

Judith started to buttfuck Balthus with ever-increasing intensity, never quite rushing, but no longer leaving him off easy. She wasn’t hammering her hips forward, or properly coring him out, but it was still a step up. Alas, Balthus, unused as he was to anal stimulation, and a good prostate-pounding, was not in a position to last long.

“Judith, I’m…” He started to stammer, and she frowned.

“ _ Lady _ Judith.” She barked, and gave a particularly powerful pump of her hips, shoving her rod in with a little more ferocity.

“... _ Lady _ Judith, I…” Balthus cursed under his breath, and then again more loudly. “Fuck, I’m…”

“Tsk, tsk.” Judith shook her head in mock disappointment, but her blue eyes twinkled with mischief and pride. The hand she had on his belly was so close to his bouncing, leaking cock, but she didn’t touch it. “If you insist. Be a good boy and cum. Cum with only your ass.”

Balthus did. He came powerfully, spewing his load all across his stomach, spurting it further to his chest, then his neck, until the farthest scattered across his chin and lips. His wild hair, where it reached down past his shoulders, was dusted with it, and he just kept cumming, legs twitching on Judith’s shoulders, balls tensing and furiously trying to let loose more of his eruption. It trailed off with a final few spurts, and Judith crooned and slowed, letting him recover.

“Good boy.” She nodded, satisfied. “Good progress, too. Next time, you’ll last longer, and maybe the time after that, you’ll last long enough for me to cum, too.”

Judith started to step back, pulling her strap-on out of Balthus’s ass with a wet slurp. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you rest, for now. Don’t want to break you, even though you’re tougher than most boys who wind up wrapped around my rod.”

When she exited fully, Balthus growled, feeling his body loosen with the released strain, legs finally able to come down to splay out straight in front of him. Judith stroked her chin, still nodding with approval.

“And who knows? Maybe someday, if you do a  _ really _ good job...I’ll let you return the favor, and fuck my ass. Now, wouldn’t that be something?” She chuckled, but Blathus didn’t sense any derision. She wouldn’t have dangled that carrot if she didn’t mean it.

Judith undid the harness, stepped out of it, and strode away, hips swaying side to side in an exaggerated strut, ass wobbling with her walking. Balthus knew that, even if getting pegged felt fucking amazing, the opportunity to bang Judith’s fat fucking ass would be all the motivation he’d ever need to do it all over again.


	4. Claude/Hilda, wedding day sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Hilda!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to  
> HILDA! HILDA!

“Hey, Hilda? How’s it going? The ceremony’s starting in a...oh.”

Claude blinked, voice trailing off. He’d walked into Hilda’s dressing room, expecting to see her with her ladies-in-waiting as they touched-up her wedding dress. It was a marvelous piece of sewing, tailoring, embroidery and lapidary. Her bangs would be pulled back to be bound behind the rose quartz tiara that held her veil, itself an almost translucent weave of starry rose-gold threads that seemed to pass through her pink hair to spread sparkling dust through the strands. A coil of polished white jade would wrap around her neck, the bottom ending in a smooth, perfectly spherical pearl clutched in a stylized wyvern’s mouth above her cleavage. The weave of the body of her dress would be of shimmering, soft pink gossamer, the shoulders adorned with pink feathers from the wading birds on Almyra’s southern coast, fluttering slightly so that when she moved, they would sway with the suggestion that she might take flight. The fabric cupping her breasts would be stylized twice with the star-and-sunbeams design of the Crest of Goneril, woven with connected strings of almond-shaped rubies. Across the cloth covering her stomach would be an iridescent crescent moon of strung-together opals, styled on the halo that adorned Almyra’s flag. Her dress would cling to her hips and legs, and then flare out below her knees, trailing along the carpet rolled out for her.

In short, Hilda would play to her color preferences without being dominated by pink, and blend the bridal traditions of Almyra and Fódlan. In her person and clothing, she would represent the bridging of two long-averse but adjacent continents, and the endowment of her new Queenship. That would entail marrying Claude, but for all their sniping and teasing, all their accusations of insincerity and double-dealing, he knew she loved him, and he adored her in kind. The political profits of their union were lovely, but it would have failed to find purchase if there wasn’t real, sincere affection and attraction.

All these thoughts, and many, many more, secret schemes and plans and smaller worries, ran through Claude’s head as he stepped into Hilda’s dressing room, paused, and stared. He had imagined that she would be wearing the dress that his mother and her had designed and picked out. 

But she was not, not yet. She was not ready, far from it. She was alone, her ladies absent and more remarkably, she was completely, utterly naked, save for the choker and tiara that formed part of her bridal attire, and the earrings and rings that she already bore. Plus, of course, her leather boots, stretched up past her knees to sink into her thighs, just as frilly as her usual pair, only these were white rather than black.

The dress and veil were there, prim and washed and prepared to be worn as they rested on a mannequin, but Hilda was absolutely _not_ ready, and Claude was left to worry.

“Claude!” Hilda yelped with exaggerated shock. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony?”

“I make my own luck. Plus, you’re not technically dressed as the bride yet.” He grinned, then paused and sighed. “C’mon, Hilda, the ceremony’s in...what, I don’t even know, but it’s barely going to be enough time for you to get ready. Where are your handmaids?”

“My _ladies-in-waiting_ ,” Hilda stressed, rolling her eyes, “will be here momentarily, Claude. Stop worrying, gosh!”

“Hey, hey, can’t help it! I won’t pretend I’m not a little nervous about how you’ll go over with them.” Claude chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a bad habit of his that he’d fallen into around Hilda. Normally, he was a _much_ better liar, but when he was with her, well…

“Claude.” Hilda frowned slightly, stepping towards him, the high heels of her boots clacking along the stone. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shushed him. “I know they’ll accept me, and I know _you_ know that. You’re not nervous about what they’ll think of me. You’re nervous about what they’ll think of _you_.” 

Claude chewed the inside of his lip. Hilda...wasn’t wrong, but those were memories and realities he didn’t want to think about on his wedding day. On _their_ wedding day. It was easier to laugh it off, to project his fears about himself onto Hilda. But she knew him too well.

“All right, you got me. Yeah, I’m worried, Hilda. I’m worried about being a good husband, about being a good king, about being a good half-Almyran, half-Fódlan. Whatever that means.” Claude scoffed. “Look at me, whining about the most traditional thing ever. Sorry, Hilda, you don’t deserve that. I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

“Claude.” She said more forcefully, stopping him as he turned to leave, brow furrowed slightly. “Don’t do that. We’ve known each other a long time, and you can’t pretend this doesn’t bother you.”

Hilda grinned, then, broadly and widely. “Luckily, I know _just_ how to encourage you.”

It was like she said. He’d known her a long time, long enough that he instantly understood the undercurrent of suggestion. 

“Here? Won’t your handmaids catch us?”

“ _Ladies-in-waiting_.” Hilda chided him again, shaking her head. “And c’mon, Claude...don’t you want to one more time, before we’re married? I’m not saying it’ll get boring once we are, but there’s a _thrill_ to doing it now. Know what I mean?”

Hilda’s voice was an alluring, confident, enticing purr, and she took another step closer to him. Leaning back slightly, she stretched her arms above her head, grasping her elbows with the opposite hand, exposing the smooth, soft curve of her armpits. The angle of her movement made her chest puff out that much more, hefty boobs jiggling as her back came to rest in its new position, the sapphire piercing in her bellybutton glittering in the sunlight. Hilda spread her legs slightly, adjusting her stance, showing off the supple squishing of her thighs in the frilly grip of her boots, the tuft of pink hair between her legs, and the flared curve of her wide, wide hips. 

“C’mon, Claude, one more time? Just the two of us, without any of the royalty and regalia?” She winked, licked her lips, and blew him a kiss, jostling her tits and swiveling her hips in a grinding motion.

Claude was on her in a flash. He prided himself on his ability to resist her charm, but she knew enough about how to tempt people that here, at the cusp of moving from one life to the next, he couldn’t hold back. He snatched her up in his arms, one hand supporting the small of her back, the other clutching her shoulders, and carried her to the wall, pressing her up against it as he leaned forward to kiss her. Hilda surprised him, again, reaching a finger forward and pressing it against his lips.

“Now now, Claude, we’re about to get married! Let’s save the smooching for the altar. That’s only proper, after all~!” Hilda giggled, eyes darting down to his crotch, then biting her lip and whistling through her nostrils. The irony wasn’t lost upon him.

“You’re a naughty girl, Hilda.” Claude chuckled as he moved a hand down from her shoulders to undo his belt, and drop his pants. Luckily, he hadn’t stepped into his wedding outfit, either: he wanted to spend as little time in that getup as he could, however proudly Almyran it was. His cock sprang up, half-hard and growing stiffer by the second, balls fat and heavy beneath. 

Hilda whistled and waggled her eyebrows, staring at his shaft. “That’s what I’m talking about. It’s been too long.”

“Hilda, I fucked you this morning. And last night.” Claude said, as he lined up his cockhead to her oozing, glistening slit, still holding her against the wall by the small of her back.

“Yes, and that’s too long in myoooooh~!” Hilda’s retort was cut off by a coo as Claude shoved himself inside of her, spreading her pussy lips wide around his thick dick. It was just as lovingly warm and wet as it had been...oh, five hours ago, but he wasn’t in much place to criticize Hilda for an overactive libido. Claude was basically addicted to fucking her in his own way, too, and though it didn’t manifest itself as frequently, when it did, his voracity could outshine hers.

Both of Claude’s hands shifted to grab the back of Hilda’s asscheeks, squeezing her soft, squishy butt beneath his fingers both to enjoy the suppleness and to hold himself steady as he thrust forward and upward and bottomed out. The tip of his cock kissed the back of her cunt, and Hilda yelped and wrapped her legs around his waist, her own hands resting on his shoulders. 

He wanted to trade banter with her, to quip and joke and hear her return it in kind, but he knew time was short, and she was already making more noise than he’d have wanted for with her little whines and not-so-little yowls. Instead of drawing it out, teasing Hilda until she begged for it, Claude opted to go into rapid-fire momentum right off the back, pulling his hips back, and his dick halfway out, before slamming into her again. Sure enough, Hilda squealed and squeaked, plugged full of cock again, as he got into his groove.

Claude kept her steady with his hands on her ass, the cushion of Hilda’s plump rear giving him plenty of space to hold onto as he fucked her vertically, spreading his legs to better balance himself and stay upright. Hilda’s massive tits bounced wildly as he railed her, jiggling and wobbling and jostling, swinging to and fro, up and down, in tandem with each other as her whole body shook with the force of him slamming into her. Claude wanted desperately to bend his face down to suck on her adorable nipples, all the cuter for being so small in the circle of her wider areolae and much, much larger breasts. He wanted to nibble and bite them or even just bury his face in their quaking, soft squishiness, but it was far more fun to watch Hilda’s tits misbehave, slapping wetly against her chest and scattering sweat everywhere.

Every thrust into Hilda’s pussy brought forth a fresh wave of warmth and undulation as she grabbed at him. She squeezed down powerfully, clutching a bit tighter every time he bottomed out, his balls smacking her asshole every time his dick was buried in her to the base. Her legs pressed against his sides in time with the clinging of her pussy. She didn’t stop squirming, whining, cooing and moaning, and Claude’s worries that they’d be overheard were coming in a distant second to his desire to elicit more lovely sounds of surrender from her. Hilda’s eyes were twitching, half-glazed over, lips slightly slack, mouth half-open and drooling liberally onto her chin, jaw, and tits, making her body an even wetter mess than it already was.

Claude could have kept going for quite some time, though Hilda had proven capable of surprising him with how quickly she could induce him to rapid orgasm. Now was pretty much proving to be one of those times, and besides, in the back of his mind, he remained aware of the pressing deadline. Luckily, Hilda’s frantic milking of his dick, the sight of her tits bouncing relentlessly, and the way she was so visibly losing her mind was going to do the trick. 

Hilda had made it clear a long time ago how she preferred their explosive finishes to go, and in the flurry of the moment, he honestly couldn’t say that he was thinking of any consequences. Only later might he recognize that what would have once been a danger had now become opportunity and expectation. He wasn’t considering that now, though. Claude just really, really wanted to cum, to empty his balls into Hilda and flood her with cream and sloppy spunk.

So he did. He didn’t warn her, and he didn’t ask. He was too busy flooding her with his load to allow any other thought to enter his mind other than how fucking _amazing_ it felt to spew inside of Hilda, to hose down her womb with as much of his eruption as he could. In the cacophony of it all, Claude heard her wail, and felt her clench and rock around his dick in on-and-off movements, her voice croaking into a staccato as she came around his cock.

It was a full-body orgasm, the kind that left his head woozy and legs wobbling, and his dick and balls sorer and emptier than usual. Hilda was a sweaty, drool, cum-stuffed mess, droplets of his load leaking out from around his dick as he stayed buried in her, panting and groaning, waiting for her to recover as his lucidity returned to him.

“That was…” Hilda cooed, shuddering at the memory and the sensation of getting her cunt painted and plastered with warm cream, his spunk still planted deep inside her. “Oooh, Claude, married life is going to be _so_ much fun~.”

“Y-yeah.” Claude agreed, then blinked. Wait. They, uh, they had a wedding to get to soon. Claude should probably...go get ready.

“I should probably go get ready.” He said with no small reluctance. “We need to clean up, unless we want to get married like this, which I don’t think anyone wants to see. Your handmaids should really be here already…”

“ _Ladies-in-waiting_.” Hilda said, with tired frustration, unwrapping her legs from around his waist. “You’re making that mistake on purpose now, is that it? Hah, hah. But yes, if you don’t want to give my girls a show, let’s get things dealt with.” 

Claude nodded, then pulled out of Hilda with a wet slurp after giving her asscheeks one more squeeze, watching his cum ooze out from between her legs, dribbling onto the floor. He knew that he was going to see her soon in utterly resplendent, royal gorgeousness, outfitted with expensive gems and fabric and feathers, but there was a different sort of beauty to her now. All sweaty and drool-strewn, bridal tiara askew, white jade choker wet with perspiration, his cream spilling from her cunt.

She was right. Married life was going to be _so_ much fun.


	5. Lysithea/Byleth (Oral sex, throat swabbing, cumplay/cum swallowing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea likes creamy treats, and she adores Byleth's most of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by and based on this art by Kinkymation, which you can find [here](https://twitter.com/kinkymation/status/1360683224301776907). Used with permission: Thank you again very much to the artist!
> 
> Wasn't originally my plan to write this, but an acquaintance likes Lysithea, so I figured I'd try.

Lysithea is a small, sickly woman. Her stunted growth makes it all but certain that she will not get any taller, and the flimsiness in her limbs and constitution will probably never quite desert her. 

But she has made the most of the truncated years of her life, and managed to learn more in two decades than most will in a lifetime. A keen, intelligent, perceptive mind lies behind her rose-pink eyes, and a thesaurus of theories and  _ bon monts _ rest on the tip of her tongue. Such pint-sized power demands a steady inflow of energy, even to sustain a flawed vessel. Lysithea devours treats, sweets, cakes and baked goods with enough alacrity to make a talented confectioner swear off the oven for life, but the flavors of candy, honey, cream and the  _ glacéd  _ coating of crystallized fruits are what gives Lysithea the energy she needs to be the best. She does not limit her palate to such delicacies—her body demands  _ some _ nutrition—but nothing empowers her more than sugar. 

Which makes one of her  _ other _ cravings that much stranger. Lysithea loves sweet, creamy treats, but the gooey, sticky delight that enthralls her almost to the degree of obsession is neither sweet nor sugary. It is salty, and thick, and warm, not with the heat of a confectioner’s oven, but born of a less refined bastion of high temperature. 

Lysithea is talking about cum. She is talking about that off-white fluid which flows up from ballsacks, pumps through dicks, and jets out of cockheads when she brings a man to the edge of his self-control. She  _ hates _ salty foods, but can’t stop herself from guzzling down spunk whenever the chance arose, slurping on cocks to extract more of that bizarrely addictive drink. It is a compulsion, the same kind of dependency that makes her so dearly treasure the opportunity to sate her sweet tooth, but the dichotomy between her usual preferences and this singular interest is beyond her ability to explain.

Mercifully, Byleth is always willing to help. When Lysithea gets antsy, lips twitching, eyes wandering, her dear Professor can always be counted on to attend to her momentary lapses in control. Sometimes, Lysithea dives for him, falling to her knees, dragging his dick into the open, and swallowing it between her lips. She works fiercely, intensely, focused and driven, sucking his cock until he erupts into her mouth and she can gulp down his gift. 

Sometimes, Byleth snatches Lysithea up, shoves her down, and plugs her mouth with his length. Then, he put his hands on Lysithea’s head as he fucks her face until his balls were bruising her chin, her hair is tangled and matted, her eyes streaming tears of delight and discomfort as he floods her cheeks and throat with his spunk, then holds her nose to make her swallow. That gesture is unnecessary—Lysithea  _ always _ swallows, unless he pulls out to cum on her features, in which case she scoops the facial up and licks it clean—but she appreciates Byleth’s moments of aggression. It reminds her that, yes, he can falter, too, and his control is more tenuous than he wants it to seem.

This particular occasion sees her on her back, the both of them stripped naked. Ordinarily, this orientation merits Byleth plunging his dick down her gullet with mighty thrusts, nutsack covering Lysithea’s eyes as he swabs out her throat with his cockhead and feeds her his load right into her stomach. 

Now, though, Lysithea finds space to direct her own feeding. Her right hand is extended, grabbing the side of his thigh and buttcheek, her left hand brushing the skin on her chest between her breasts, pert and small and jostling slightly as she bobs her head. Eyes shut in concentration, bangs falling upward from her forehead, Lysithea slides her mouth up and down, swallowing Byleth’s cock upside-down. Every time she forces herself forward, chin tilted so that the back of her head can support the angle of her ascent, Lysithea gags lightly, teeth and tongue and throat thrumming around Byleth’s cock. On the downward movement, she slurps and sucks inward, hollowing out her cheeks and dragging her tongue along the top side of his shaft, until the tip of her tongue brushes the back of his cockhead and she knows to cycle back again.

Byleth is hissing, leaning over her, his right hand clumsily fondling between Lysithea’s legs, index and middle fingers sliding in and out of her slit with slippery schlicking, squelching sounds. Lysithea is so small that even just two of his fingers are putting a strain on the sides of her pussy lips, the clenching of her cunt spurred on by her eagerness to milk Byleth’s dick with her tongue, teeth, lips and throat. She wants to empty his balls, like she has so many times, and get the dessert she desires.

He groans out a warning, fumbling between Lysithea’s legs as he nudges another finger into the opening, his ring finger squeezing into the space that remains with some struggle and a delightful popping noise. Lysithea cooes in a mix of shock and delight at the new pressure, and the humming buzzes through Byleth’s dick and goes right to his nutsack. He can’t hold on: She’s sucking the cream right out of him.

Byleth erupts, balls pumping the gooey treat that Lysithea desperately desires right down her throat with one spurt, and then another, and then another. She moans in muffled delight and keeps slurping, swallowing and gulping, trying to suckle more spunk from him with every movement. It seems to work, too, as Byleth’s throat rattles with his stuttered exclamation of amazement as he trembles and splatters Lysithea’s cheeks and throat with more fresh servings of seed. The fingers prodding Lysithea’s cunt jostle and slip, the bottom of his index nudging her clit as he tries to steady herself. That, in combination with the fulfillment of being directly fed the cum she yearned for, beckons Lysithea’s own orgasm out from her, coming in an undulating, quaking, squealing shudder throughout her whole body as his palm is slickened with the pleasure of her peak. 

Lysithea smiles dreamily, stomach and throat pleasantly warm and full, as Byleth pants and tries to regain his footing. She’ll never tire of treats like this. Not now, not ever. 


	6. Fire Emblem: Two Times Three Houses (Lotsa Characters, Very Silly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain, Lorenz, and Ferdinand argue with each other over the finer points of noble etiquette and expectations. They are also fucking Mercedes, Byleth, and Dorothea, and that somehow doesn't get in the way of their bickering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to Fizzer! This is a birthday gift for him: Check out his own writing work [here](https://twitter.com/HeroicFizzer).

Dorothea, Mercedes, and Byleth propped themselves up on their hands and knees, facing each other, lips and chests pressed together, moaning and drooling into each other’s mouths. Ferdinand, Sylvain, and Lorenz pumped away at their respective partners, the whole group arranged in a loose circle. The force of their thrusts rocked each woman closer to the other two in a jostling, shuddering clash of boobs and cheeks and crooning, kissing faces, squashed together in a lovely, chaotic tangle.

The women were rolling with it, but the men...the men couldn’t stop glaring, sniping, and chiding each other, even as they banged these beauties from behind. If the ladies had been in any position to protest, they would’ve given their partners a piece of their mind for getting distracted by each other, but Dorothea, Mercedes, and Byleth were much too focused on each other, and the cocks reaming them from the back, to verbalize their annoyance.

Which left the lads to bicker and argue, an opportunity they took _full_ advantage of. That was the point of this, anyways. This was the only way they could debate without losing their heads, their tempers, or their patience. It made very little sense to anyone outside the fold, but it worked for them, and so they swore by it.

“Sylvain, I simply _cannot_ abide your...banal tastes. Really, you scarf down protein like you’re starving, but refuse to take the time to enjoy a more delicate cup of tea, as befits your status?” Lorenz scoffed, digging his hands into Byleth’s asscheeks as he sawed his dick in and out of her pussy in long, weighty thrusts, moving more slowly but making every shove count, each motion making his long, side-cut hair bounce and sway from the momentum. His nuts brushed her green bush on the forward motion, tickling her clit, and earning a whine from the woman in front of him that was almost immediately muffled by the lips of one of the other two.

“Hey, better than barely eating at all. You’re scrawny, Lorenz! No wonder you prefer magic.” Sylvain chuckled, shaking his head in Lorenz’s direction as he smashed his hips into Mercedes, his cockhead nudging the deepest recesses of her pussy when he bottomed out, his ballsack smacking her thick, clenched-together thighs. Mercedes mewled and whined, the soft skin on her back, butt, and belly rippling, leaning her head forward and into the smooches of her fellow women.

“I do not often agree with Sylvain, but he is right. There is little more noble than a refined palate for tea, of course, but you must also keep up your strength if you are to be a model for the common people!” Ferdinand proclaimed, puffing out his chest and raising a clenched, triumphant fist. His other hand was digging into Dorothea’s hair, tugging back to help her move with him as he stretched her asshole around the girth of his cock, his nutsack whapping her untouched pussy when he bottomed out. Dorothea cried out in high-pitched, singsong delight at the contact, and at the strain of her choker dragging against her throat from her head being pulled backwards. Her impromptu operatic overture was interrupted by the desperate, hungry kisses of Byleth and Mercedes, who crashed their lips against hers in a messy three-way, slobbering smooch.

This wasn’t even the first topic of dissent between the boys today. They’d been arguing the whole time that they’d been fucking their paramours here together, and it didn’t look like they were stopping anytime soon. Whenever one conflict came to a resolution, another was raised, usually by some slight or slipup in the denouement of the preceding exchange. The ladies loved it, being the mechanism by which the disagreement was carried out, because it brought forth the wildest, angriest, greatest reserves of energy that their partners could contain.

“I...my profile is not so delicate as all that! And I am offended that you would take his side. Does our camaraderie count for nothing?” Lorenz frowned and looked down at his own chest and stomach, trying to identify the problem. As he did so, his gaze drifted momentarily onto Byleth’s jiggling asscheeks, and an impulse fell over him, a manner by which he could demonstrate his fortitude. Rearing his arm back, he smacked his palm against Byleth’s rear, slapping her butt back and forth as he fucked her. She was too busy making out with Dorothea to verbalize her pleasure at the sharp strikes, but her pussy clenched down on his all the same, a marker of her desire for more viciousness, and she wiggled her hips to signal her delight. “See? The Professor finds no cause to note any deficiency in my arm strength!”

“Do not mistake me. I agree that Sylvain can be...tactless, and wantonly argumentative. I cannot deny that he has a point, though.” Ferdinand lowered his voice, trying to sound more placating and reasonable, even as he yanked back on Dorothea’s locks to force her to break her kiss with Byleth, crashing her ass back against his crotch. The force left her rear hole undulating and squeezing down on Ferdinand’s dick as she arched her back, thrusting her chest out. Immediately, Byleth and Mercedes took the opportunity to dip their heads forward, each taking one of Dorothea’s pert, petite nipples in their mouths. Mercedes suckled gently on the pebbled tip, and Byleth mouthed and nibbled more aggressively, forcing a rising mezzo from her throat that threatened to drown out Sylvain’s reply.

“Yeah. I was talking about your torso, anyway, and besides, I really don’t think that slapping the Professor’s butt is really proving all that much about how strong you are.” Sylvain winked at Byleth, who was too busy biting Dorothea’s tits to notice him, and too distracted otherwise by Lorenz’s pounding of her pussy. Sylvain shrugged, and reached forward to splay his fingers against the back of Mercedes’s shoulders, below her close-cut hair, pressing down firmly but evenly and giving him more of a downward angle to thrust into her cunt with. Her arms trembled, and her lips slipped off of Dorothea’s nipple with a satisfying _pop_ noise as she mewled at how this avenue of attack let the head of Sylvain’s cock drag against the front of Mercedes’s inner walls, treading upon terrain he had heretofore neglected. 

“Sylvain, that is not helpful. Lorenz makes a good point, or as good of a point as the situation permits.” Ferdinand protested. He loosened his tug on Dorothea’s hair, which let her relax the bowing of her back and spread her legs to let his swinging ballsack strike her pussy lips with wet, squishy smacks. “Besides, we all have different areas of expertise, no? Lorenz is far more capable in magical arts than I presently am, and I wager that the limits of his potential exceed yours.”

“Thank you.” Lorenz smiled politely at Ferdinand, finally relenting his drumming of Byleth’s derriere with his hands to instead grip her hips and pump forward with the full force of his thighs. Byleth bit down on Dorothea’s nipple a little more harsher with the renewed vigor of Lorenz’s incessantly pounding prick, and Dorothea’s song rose another octave.

Sylvain winced. “Hey, uh, Ferdinand, mind quieting her down? I don’t want to go deaf here, and I’m pretty sure she can shatter glass, so…?” He eased off of Mercedes, letting her raise her upper body, just quickly enough for Byleth to swap the tit she was nibbling on from Dorothea to the blonde. Mercedes cooed in delight at the dragging pinpricks of pleasure on her skin, and bore down on Sylvain’s dick with renewed greed.

“Ah, my apologies. Dorothea, would you kindly…?” Ferdinand asked, even as he pushed on the back of her head, forcing her to lower herself until she was shoving her face between Byleth’s swaying tits, the pair bigger than Mercedes’s or even Dorothea’s herself. Trapped in a jostling bosom, Dorothea’s operatic cries were muffled by Byleth’s massive boobs, and her asshole tugged at Ferdinand’s cock as she was smothered by the weightiest chest she’d ever seen. “T-there we go. Is that better?”

“Y-yeah.” Sylvain assented, gritting his teeth. The undulating, slick heat of Mercedes’s pussy, the sight of her rippling and shuddering before him, of Byleth nibbling her tits as Dorothea was gagged in turn...he would be lying if it wasn’t starting to work.

“R-running l-low on energy there, Sylvain? What was t-that you were saying about stamina?” Lorenz tried to grin, but it came out wobbly, and he suppressed a curse. Byleth’s clutching cunt was working its magic on him too. Reaching his hand forward, he pulled back on Byleth’s green hair, more gently than Ferdinand, but enough to force her to raise her head and separate from Mercedes’s nipple.

“S-strength, I said. You’re n-not doing an-any better, anyway!” Sylvain chuckled darkly, straining. Mercedes, of her own volition, spurred on only a little by Sylvain’s hand on her shoulders, leaned closer to Byleth, to lick and plant kisses on the other woman’s rippling tits, nuzzling into Dorothea’s hair as she did so.

“I…” Ferdinand started to speak, then grunted unsteadily, shaking his head, his long hair bouncing with the momentum of his movements. Dorothea’s asshole was gripping him with vice-like force, squeezing so strongly that he feared he wouldn’t be able to thrust forward if she held him any more mightily. 

“I...I think we are...coming to the end of th-this discussion.” Lorenz said what they were all thinking.

“F-fine.” Sylvain conceded, then swore. “Fuck!”

“S-shall we, then?” Ferdinand extended the invitation, and the other two men took it with a stunted nod and an unfocused grunt. 

As if planned, all three of them—Lorenz, Ferdinand, and Sylvain—released the grips they had on Byleth, Dorothea, and Mercedes, respectively, and instead grabbed their partners by the hips with both hands. With this proper, secured leverage, they reared back and rammed forward with as-of-yet-unseen energy, rawing their cocks into the holes of the woman they were fucking. Lorenz’s shaft pumped into Byleth’s pussy, Ferdinand’s dick cored out Dorothea’s ass, and Sylvain crammed Mercedes’s cunt with his cock. Their nutsacks whapped, slapped, and smacked the clits, bushes, and, for Ferdinand, pussy lips of their partners with squelching, wet, overmighty sounds that echoed out between the women’s thighs.

Now equalized, Byleth, Dorothea, and Mercedes were free to raise their heads, only to be driven closer together by the power of their partners’s plowing. The three biggest pairs of tits of Garreg Mach Monastery were slammed together into a jostling, quaking mess. Their nipples rubbed together and the pressure of their sudden contact forced their chests to pillow up and squash together at the junction of their bosoms. Their cheeks dragged against each other and all three sloppily slid their teeth and tongues against each other’s faces, catching a kiss here, a bite there. They drooled and moaned and panted into each other’s mouths as they were rammed together, making out messily and hungrily, eyes dazed, minds addled with overstimulation, eager for three things.

The contact of the other women, the cocks of their respective men, and the cum they would all soon receive. Lorenz, Ferdinand, and Sylvain gave them what they wanted and more.

In near-sync, all three nobles blew their loads. They bottomed out in their partner’s holes—Lorenz in Byleth’s cunt, Ferdinand in Dorothea’s ass, and Sylvain in Mercedes’s pussy—and came hard into the orifices that awaited them. Two wombs and a colon were washed with cream, pumped up from trembling, twitching nutsacks, poured into the holes wrapped around the cocks they were attached to. The undulating tunnels were indicative of the women’s own orgasms, rushing through them in a flurry of warmth and unravelling energy. It made a lovely if disorganized sight as the three ladies made out messily, squishing their massive chests together to hasten them all along.

When Lorenz, Ferdinand, and Sylvain had finally emptied their balls, they looked over their ladies as they rested against each other, mumbling, trembling and shuddering. All three looked absolutely fucked out of their minds, their mouths open and drooling, their eyes glazed over and glassy, their cheeks sticky and red, and their tits sore and wet. Byleth was anything but dignified, Dorothea anything but elegant, and Mercedes anything but sweet.

The men shared a glance, frowned, and got right back into the swing of their debate, but there was a bit less vitriol and less sniping in their back-and-forth. They seemed to recognize the changed energy and lowered intensity, even if they didn’t stop squabbling. They’d never fully agree, but if this was the backdrop to them working out their arguments, they could live with it.


End file.
